Flying Solo

Language...has created the word “loneliness” to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone. — Paul Johannes Tillich

As I stood to one side of the San Diego Civic Theatre’s multi-door entrance and watched the theatergoing throng, I shifted from stiletto to stiletto as a sense of uneasiness crept through my body. In my many imaginings of how the evening might go, never once had I envisioned feeling awkward. It’s odd, I thought, to be among hundreds of people, all gathering for the same event, and to feel so alone.

I hadn’t been to a Broadway show since 2005, when I went to see the debut of Spamalot in New York. Despite his enthusiasm for singing along to Dr. Horrible with me, David had little interest in going to see Wicked. He’s never been much of a drama guy, whereas I cannot resist all things histrionic (and sparkly). “I’ll go if you really want me to,” he had said when I asked him. (That’s code for “Please don’t make me do it.”) But I was determined to see the show, as I’d enjoyed the book on which it was based and love musicals. As it is with horror movies, pedicures, and hiking, David’s disinterest did not deter me from making my own plans.

I went online and searched for two tickets while mulling over which friend I might ask to accompany me. After several searches and no luck finding any seats in my preferred section for any night a full month out, I was ready to give up. But when my friend James mentioned he and his wife were planning to attend the show that very week, it was all the incentive I needed to abandon the idea of bringing a date and refine my search to just one seat, a move that expanded my options. In fact, when I clicked “best seat available,” one appeared in the first row, and I grabbed it.

When it comes to doing things alone, I’m not averse so much as unaccustomed. There are benefits to flying solo. When attending parties, I prefer to drive alone to avoid any conflicts associated with my wanting to leave

earlier or later than others (excluding David, whose easygoingness transcends conflict). I am not put off by the idea of arriving alone to events at which I may not know anyone. Because I am almost as gregarious as my dear dad, I can appreciate how arriving to such galas companionless makes it a breeze to meet people.

But no pro exists without a con — as cool as I am with my solitude in some situations, I am daunted by it in others. I’ve taken myself out to dinner, most often while traveling for work. Dining out sans company can be a lonely affair; between courses or while waiting for the check, boredom and impatience have me tapping my fingers on the table. While eating, my eyes tend to roam, and I must avoid getting caught staring at fellow diners. The vigilance required for such an endeavor can be exhausting. When the food is terrible, there’s no one to hear my kvetching, and when it is fabulous, no one to whom I can offer a bite. Eating is an experience I prefer to share.

I can only remember one time I sat alone in a theater — when I went to see Thoroughly Modern Millie with my dad and we sat in different sections. When seated beside someone I know during a show, I frequently look their way, to “check in.” That time, without anyone around me, I was free to lose myself in the production without the unspoken obligation I usually feel to share my attention between the stage and the person next to me. With that experience in mind, and the knowledge of how lucky I was to score a great seat on short notice, I was eagerly anticipating my girl’s (emphasis on the singular) night out.

I arrived at 7 p.m., half an hour before the show. I retrieved my ticket from will-call. I texted my friends. Then I stood. After a few minutes of trying not to look suspicious, I approached a makeshift bar in search of something to occupy my hands. I scoffed aloud when I witnessed the paltry pours and noticed that each shot-glass of wine cost more than the entire bottle from which the sips originated.

After the wine-purchase fail, I retreated to my previous spot, off to the side and out of the way. Fortunately, I remembered my iPhone, that wonderful contrivance that can instantly transform the pathetic into the preoccupied. After fishing it out of my purse, I stared at the device’s screen, trying to figure out what to use it for. I didn’t want to surf the net or check my email, as the antisocial nature of those activities seemed incongruous with my surroundings. I scrolled to my favorite contacts page and tapped on my sister Heather’s name. As everyone around me was talking to someone else, a phone call seemed just the thing to do if I were to blend in.

By the time James and Alice appeared, the crowd was already crushing its way into the lobby. Ironic, that once I had actual people to talk to, it was the last thing I wanted to do. I have a strict preshow countdown checklist and a perpetual anxiety about the unknown, which meant I had to get inside as soon as possible, in case there were lines to the restroom, in case I had trouble finding my seat, in case a hundred other “what-ifs” flitting about my neurotic noggin manifested themselves, all of which might result in me missing the show.

Once “rested” and guided to my section, I took my seat between two twentysomething women to my left and a fiftysomething woman and what I assumed were her teenaged daughters to my right. The girls to my left initiated conversation by telling me they’d won two tickets in a lottery outside for a sixth of the price I paid. I had just enough time to feign congratulations before the lights dimmed and the show began, at which point the woman to my right commenced her own dance-and-sing-along show, shaking my seat with her gesticulations. When I realized that glaring in the darkness would have no effect on the Ritalin popper, I sighed and settled back into my quaking chair, wishing for a moment that I could have been sitting there alone.

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Comments

Your falling back on the cell phone confirms my theory that people who whip their phones out while alone in public are often doing so solely to fight off the fear that comes with potentially being talked to by a stranger, which very well might have turned out to be a pleasant experience - especially in an environment like a playhouse, where the strangers in attendance likely share at least one common interest with the solo flyer.

Next time, try to stick it out without resorting to the mePhone - that is, iPhone. You just might enjoy an interesting and fresh conversation, while helping make the world that much more friendly a place.

Shizzy, I agree, and I love meeting people while out and about. Thing is, at a show, all those people are in tight little clusters, talking to each other. And many are on dates. So I wasn't into walking up and introducing myself to randoms, and I didn't want anyone to feel obligated to come talk to me. Tonight, however, I'm looking forward to going out alone, because it's to one of those mixers, where everyone expects to strike up conversations with strangers.

"...people who whip their phones out while alone in public are often doing so solely to fight off the fear that comes with potentially being talked to by a stranger, which very well might have turned out to be a pleasant experience..."

Unless you are like me and attract mostly horny sleazeballs with 100-proof breath, a rap sheet, body odor or severe mental deficiencies.

"...people who whip their phones out while alone in public are often doing so solely to fight off the fear that comes with potentially being talked to by a stranger, which very well might have turned out to be a pleasant experience..."

"Unless you are like me and attract mostly horny sleazeballs with 100-proof breath, a rap sheet, body odor or severe mental deficiencies."

Exactly. I think Shizzy's a male.

If not, then an unattractive female.

:)

Either way, s/he clearly doesn't understand what kind of "friendly" approaches some of us are constantly exposed to. When a stranger spots me and starts heading my way, I can just about bet they're after one of two things:

Joe, that image gives me all kinds of skeevies. What a strange thing to have tattooed on your body. But who am I to judge? I have a tramp stamp of a phoenix and some dragons. There's just no accounting for taste. ;)

By antigeekess

SurfP, it's cute when you wag your tail and hold out your paw to "shake." AG, he has some knowledge of the law--at least laws pertaining to the ownership of surfing dogs, and he's also worth 3.6 mil--or at least his owner is.

I don't know, Barbarella and Shizzyfin are the relationship experts, but who knows if there are really any better curs out there. I mean, if he gets regular dental cleanings at the vet, it might be worth taking him a walk--on leash, of course. I've already got a pet, or I'd adopt him myself.

Didn't something very similar happen in Massachusetts between a cop and a college professor that ultimately got the president involved. Colin Powell said it best. (Paraphrased) "I was taught to do what an officer tells you to do." Had these individuals spent 30 seconds of saying "yes officer, I will do as you say" We would not have this headache. But nooo. They had to throw a fit. The police, and DA had to spend your tax dollars investigating this nonsense. It makes me wonder if this group deliberately did this just to get free press coverage.

Response to #29: After the publication of The Fountainhead, Rand received numerous letters from readers, some of whom had been profoundly influenced by the novel. In 1951 Rand moved from Los Angeles to New York City, where she gathered a group of these admirers around her. This group (jokingly designated "The Collective") included future Federal Reserve chairman Alan Greenspan, a young psychology student named Nathan Blumenthal (later Nathaniel Branden) and his wife Barbara, and Barbara's cousin Leonard Peikoff. At first the group was an informal gathering of friends who met with Rand on weekends at her apartment to discuss philosophy. Later she began allowing them to read the drafts of her new novel, Atlas Shrugged, as the manuscript pages were written. In 1954 Rand's close relationship with the much younger Nathaniel Branden turned into a romantic affair, with the consent of their spouses.

Those last few posts remind me of Slim Pickens near the end of Dr. Strangelove. The plane is going to crash and he looks at the survival kit. It has a pack of cigarettes, a few dollars, some snack item, a condom (I think, but haven't seen the film in 20 years), razor, and small bottle of booze. With his drawl he says, "This sounds like a fun weekend in Vegas!"

As I was typing, it was so much less fun than I remembered. And that just shows how good comedy all depends on the small things like that.

Yeah, Dr. Strangelove is a classic. Peter Sellers was a comedic genius.

I'm guessing strippers would be upset with any other currency (so I've heard!!!) Only because I have a friend that was in a strip club, and had silver dollars. I think he had 20 of them, and was using them for tips. He just wanted to get rid of them or something, and a woman threw it at him saying something about not wanting change and blah blah blah. He just smiled and said "Uh..okay. But it was a dollar, not a quarter." The stripper came over later and apologized.

The few times I've gone to strip clubs, I like to tip them based on the song they're dancing to. If they have good taste in music, they get a big tip. My friends think it should be on how hot they are.

"The few times I've gone to strip clubs, I like to tip them based on the song they're dancing to. If they have good taste in music, they get a big tip. My friends think it should be on how hot they are."

Thanks for the tip, Pistol. I hope you could tell from the context (as you seem to be able to read and write just fine) that I didn't buy that glass of wine because it was too expensive. Which kind of makes your point about me "spending huge amounts of money to look cool" moot. Love me or hate me, I'm glad to know something inspired you to read my words.

Josh, I'm assuming that your job is be controversial, groove your subject matter based on current trends, and basically stir up the pot. Your columns reflect it. Barb, your column is based on personal experience and enlightenment, and the other contributions are pretty straight-forward journalistic stuff. But your column is supposed to be based on you (it's a diary, duh).

You two are arguing apples and oranges here. Knock it off. You're both professionals. Don't provide the wrong kind of entertainment. This is an adult playground, so play like adults. I enjoy both columns for entirely different reasons. Stop the B.S. and grow up.

LMAO! Josh hit the nail on the head! I used to read Barb's column when I first moved out here. Then I thought"Why in the f*** am I reading this garbage?". Nothing more interesting than a nuerotic,self-centered,egotistical yuppie....

"After fishing it out of my purse, I stared at the device’s screen, trying to figure out what to use it for."-That line alone was priceless!

"I scoffed aloud when I witnessed the paltry pours and noticed that each shot-glass of wine cost more than the entire bottle from which the sips originated."-Here's a thought,Barb....Spending huge amounts of money to look cool doesn't make you look cool. It makes you look like a moron.

Ummmm,Barbarella? There was NOTHING in that line that said you didn't buy the shot glass of wine. I'm a huge dive bar dweller. When I first moved out here I went to Jolt'n Joe's in Escondido. They wanted $8.00 for half a pitcher of beer. I too scoffed but I was thirsty. I thought to myself"I'm not in Wisconsin anymore".
And I was just giving you some well deserved s***. I still read your column occasionally and I still laugh. Your writing might not be for my more refined palette but I'm ok with that ;-D

You can lay the blame on me. It's my fault -- I turned her on to the good stuff.

The first sample's free, ya know... :)

But seriously, it has absolutely nothing to do with cost. Dive bar, hole-in-the-wall, or 15-course chef's tasting menu, we don't care so long as it rocks; and there are many hole-in-the-wall places that do.

Like I said to Barb after we went to that 100-point wine-tasting, "No matter how good a fifteen-hundred dollar wine is, it will never taste better than a five-dollar milkshake."

N.B. actually we didn't much care for the snooty, expensive wines, but I'm glad we went because now I know that if I splurge on a $35 wine for a special occasion, it will make me happier than any of those $1K+ bottles. And, THAT made it all worthwhile!

Let me preface my comments by disclosing my biases. We tend to like very full-bodied, complex (hopefully), fruit-forward wines, with well-balanced silky tannin. This is what some might call "New World Style". It may not be as sophisticated as a lean, mineraly Bordeaux, but it's what we like and for that we make no apologies. Your mileage may vary.

In the $35 range, we like Orin Swift "The Prisoner", Leal Syrah, Laird Cabernet Sauvignon, some pinot noir like the $36 Rusak. In the past we've liked the Hitching Post Highliner, but I haven't cared for more recent vintages. The price on that has also dropped to the $20's which makes me think they are just trying to capitalize on their appearance in the movie Sideways. If you want to go up a few more dollars to the $40 range, Mollydooker's Blue Eyed Boy Shiraz would be fun.

If you really want to splurge... One of the absolute best wines I've ever had was the Mollydooker "Carnival of Love" Shiraz (decanted for a few hours). You can find that for around $90.